


Glass and Ink

by Ashlee1989



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Domestic Fluff, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Merman Sherlock, Sailor John, these precious nerds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9421391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashlee1989/pseuds/Ashlee1989
Summary: John is serving as a doctor aboard a merchant ship. One night he is writing in his journal when he sees a mysterious creature in the ocean. John isn't sure what it is, but he's in for a surprise when it returns the next night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to HollyShadow88 for the beta!

The first night John saw it he could never have imagined what would follow. He had taken his journal and lantern to the deck, the night air cool against his face and the quiet a reprieve from the raucous noise below deck. He liked to write about his day before turning in for the evening. His journal was a hodgepodge of anecdotes, medical observations, weather reports and amateur sketches of birds and sea creatures. He was describing how he had stitched up the cabin boy’s hand after he had cut himself with a kitchen knife when he heard it. There was a sudden, loud splash off the starboard side of the ship.

John put his journal down and raced to look over the side. He saw nothing, save for rippling waves that confirmed that *something* had made that sound. He mused over this for a moment. Whatever it was had sounded quite large but they were moving away from the deep sea and into shallower waters, their destination only a few days away. He supposed it could be a lone dolphin, separated from their pod. It didn’t really matter anyway, it was gone now. He was about to turn away and return to his journal when he saw it. A large shape emerged from the dark water and arched into the air. He knew instantly it was not a dolphin but was unsure as to what it actually was. A large tail crashed into the water, recreating the sound he had heard before. The creature repeated this two more times, each time moonlight reflected off of its silvery-blue scales. After the third breach, the sea returned to its calm solitude. After a few minutes, John raced back to his journal to sketch what he had seen.

The next evening John returned to the deck as soon as the sun had set. He knew there wasn't much chance that he would see the creature again, but perhaps he would. Maybe this time he could catch a better look at it, maybe even identify it. The moon was even brighter tonight, almost full, and there were no clouds in the sky. He didn't really even need his lantern to see his notes, but he brought it anyway. After a few hours of nothing, the creature once again breached the waves, arching high above them and re-entering with a graceful splash. In the brighter light John swore he had seen...but no, it couldn't be. He waited for the creature to breach again, barely breathing in anticipation. He frantically scanned the waves but saw nothing. A sound echoed from the water, causing John to jump. It had sounded like something had slapped the side of the ship. He stood on his toes and leant over the rail as far as he dared, searching for the source of the sound.

“God above,” he whispered to himself. Peering back up at him was a man. He was alarmingly pale, his hair forming dark curls on his forehead, but his eyes. His eyes were the colour of ice, blue and grey, and just as sharp. “Hello!” John called, snapping out of his reverie, “Do you need help?” Where had this man come from? Was there a shipwreck? Had he fallen overboard from another ship? The man's incredible eyes widened with fear when he heard John shout. After a pause, he slipped back under the water without replying. “You there!” John called again. Was the man drowning? Before he had a chance to call for the captain, he was forced into stunned silence. From the spot where the man had disappeared, the creature that he had seen the night before erupted from the waves, moving away from the ship with incredible speed. John watched with his mouth gaping open as he realised the man and the creature were one in the same. In the moonlight, he could see the pale complexion of the man's skin joined together with the great silvery-blue tail. It couldn't be...could it?

John spent the entire next day sketching the creature...the merman, he supposed, as best as he could recall. He wished he hadn't yelled last night. What if he had scared him off for good? He hoped he had not and for the third night, he returned to the deck after dinner. This evening, however, he chose one of the lower decks, closer to the water, hoping to get an even better look at the merman if he chose to show himself again. The moon was entirely full and almost directly overhead when John saw the man emerge from the waves. He swam toward the side of the ship, stopping only a few yards away. John held his finger to his lips, indicating that he would remain quiet. The merman tilted his head to the side and considered this for a moment, then slowly nodded in understanding. John didn't dare speak; he couldn't risk scaring him off again. Instead, he took in what he had not been able to see the previous nights. The merman's cheekbones were high and prominent, his lips full and angular like the rest of him. He lazily moved his arms across the top of the water, keeping his shoulders above the waves. John could see his arms were muscular but elegant. A shimmer caught in the moonlight and he realised there were small dorsal fins on either one of his forearms, the scales matching the ones on his tail.

Once John was able to tear his eyes away from the exquisite thing staring up at him, he began to sketch. He wanted to preserve every detail of what he saw, not for science or to tell others, no, this was something just for John. He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want anyone else to know about him. The merman remained silent as John sketched, his eyes never moving away from John. He got the feeling that he was studying John as much as John was studying him. A sudden low, grumbling from the merman jolted him from his task. He looked up as the merman inclined his head towards the sky. The sun was just barely coming up over the horizon. John nodded, a lump of sadness growing in his throat. The morning had come too soon. With a slight nod, the merman turned and swam away, leaving John alone on deck.

Sleep tugged at John's eyes all day, making even the simplest tasks difficult. As night approached, however, his excitement over seeing the merman again brought him to full consciousness. He took up his post once again, and at about the same time, when the moon was directly overhead he appeared again. The routine was the same, the merman stared and John sketched, neither saying a thing. John finished his sketch before sunrise and spent a few moments just staring back. He knew he had to say it, he didn't know if the merman would understand, but it would eat at him forever if he didn't. He cleared his throat and began speaking as loud as he dared.

“We dock tomorrow,” he started. Would he understand what that meant? “It means that... it means that I will have to leave the ship and go on land.” He paused. He could practically see the merman mulling this over. Then he pointed to John, then to the ship, and then shook his head no. “Yes, that's it.” John pointed to the ship and then the distant land. “The ship will be docked, and I will have to get off it.” At this, the merman shook his head no violently. “What do you mean, no? I...I have to go.” Again a violent shake of the head, then he pointed at John, then himself and then the water. “With you?” An enthusiastic nod followed. “I can't.” John shook his head and gestured at himself. “I can't,” he said a little louder. The merman repeated the same motions, indicating that he wanted John to go with him. An idea slowly formed in John's head. If he could just get down to the merman's level, to talk with him face to face instead of shouting down at him, maybe he could get him to understand. He held up a hand, then pointed to one of the small rowboats on the upper deck. “Wait here.” The merman nodded in response and John ran up the stairs to the upper deck. 

His hands trembled as he made quick work of the knots. Was he really doing this? The captain would not be pleased, but sod the captain, this was important. With a grunt of exertion, John began to lower the row boat, the pulleys creaking to life. He grimaced at the amount of noise he was making, certain that someone would wake and discover him, but he kept on. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the boat slap the water. As swiftly as he could, John tucked his journal into the waistband of his trousers. Then he flung the rope ladder over the edge and followed after it. He settled himself on the hard, wooden bench and began to row toward where he had told the merman to wait.

The merman's eyes lit up in excitement as John stowed the oars and stopped beside him. He pushed himself up, crossed his forearms on the side of the boat, his weight causing it to tip slightly. He stared at John expectantly, waiting for him to speak. John wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to repeat what he said before, he didn't want to tell the merman he couldn't go with him. Instead, he just said, “Hello, you.” A smile crept across the merman's face and John's heart leapt in his chest. He inclined his head in greeting and continued his stare, his eyes sweeping all over John's body. John blushed slightly, but let him continue. His gaze settled at John's waist and he pointed, an inquisitive look on his face. “What?” John asked, but followed the line of the long, slender finger to the journal tucked in his waistband. “Oh!” John took out the journal and opened it, quickly turning to the pages where he had sketched the merman. “I, uh, I hope you don't mind, but I drew you.”

He scooted over to the very edge of the bench, so he could show him. He angled it towards him and the merman audibly gasped when he saw. He pointed to the drawing and then to himself. “Yeah,” John chuckled. “It's you.” He flipped over to the next page where he had sketched individual parts of the merman and written descriptions beside them. The merman looked puzzled at this and scrunched his brow. “What?” John asked. The merman pointed to the words and narrowed his eyes even further. “Oh, that's what my language looks like written down. Those are my words...about you.” John's blush returned when the merman's face illuminated with joy. John turned to the page he had done the night before, a full page illustration of the merman leaping out of the water. He smiled so wide, John was certain his cheeks would burst if he tried to smile any bigger. “Do you like it?” The merman nodded enthusiastically, suddenly a soft “oh” escaped his lips. He held up a finger, as if to say 'wait a minute' and slipped beneath the water.

When he resurfaced a moment later he handed John a bag the size of a large coin purse. John couldn't identify the material, but it reminded him of a shiny dolphin. “For me?” he asked, and the merman rolled his eyes as if to say 'of course', but he also gave a sharp nod. John opened it gingerly and inside was the largest piece of sea glass John had ever seen. It was a deep blue, completely worn smooth by the waves. “Thank you.” John looked up. The merman pointed to the glass and then to John's face. “Yes, it's for me, I know.” The merman shook his head, a perturbed look settling on his face. He pointed again to the sea glass, then at his own eyes, shook his head no and then pointed at John's face again. John considered this for a moment and then took a sharp inhale. “My eyes?” He asked. “You got this for me because it's the colour of my eyes?” The merman simply nodded as if this was the most obvious thing, and John should have understood sooner. “Wow, I...I don't know what to say. Thank you.”

The merman nodded his acceptance and a charged silence settled over the pair. John spoke first, “I want to give you something, too. But I don't know what.” He looked around the boat; he had come down here without grabbing so much as a proper jacket, let alone anything he could give as a gift. An idea struck him, so he asked “Would you like one of my sketches? To keep?” This garnered an enthusiastic nod and John laughed as he tore the full page one from the binding of his journal. “Can you...can you keep it dry?” The merman rolled his eyes again and gestured to the bag he had handed John earlier. “Oh!” John folded the parchment and placed it in the bag and tightened the strings. He handed it back to the merman, their hands brushing as he did. John inhaled sharply at the touch, his skin tingling where the merman's hand was on his. Neither of them bothered to move, though – it was as if time had stopped when they touched. John met the merman's ice-like gaze with his own, both of them searching for something in the other’s eyes. After a minute, though, the merman decided he had done enough searching. In a smooth movement he pushed himself up on extended arms, his knuckles turning white where hands gripped the sides of the boat. Without thinking John leant towards him, pausing for a brief moment, and then took those positively sinful lips with his own. The merman tasted like the sea, and kissed like it too, one minute rough and dangerous and the next moment calm and languid. When they finally broke apart, it was only to push their foreheads together, the merman's wet curls sending drops of water down John's face. “Gorgeous,” John whispered. “Absolutely gorgeous.” The merman made a low, throaty noise in response and John was glad he was seated, or his knees might have given way. John wasn't sure how long they stayed that way, he just knew that those incredible eyes made him feel alive for the first time in a long time.

When they did break apart, the merman repeated his motions from earlier, pointing to John, then himself, and then the sea. John's throat went dry and his stomach lurched. He looked back towards the ship, and then back to the beautiful man in front of him. Did he dare? “I...I want to. Dear god, I want to. But I'm not like you.” He glanced down at his legs and the merman's gaze followed. “I just don't see how it could work. We can't even talk, I...I.” The merman brought his hand to John's cheek, thumb stroking his lower lip. John trembled at the touch; god did he want to go with him. The merman took his hand from John's cheek and placed it on his knee, John's entire body flooding with heat when he did. The merman glanced at his hand and then nodded yes. “Yes? Can I still go? Even with legs?” Another nod, yes. “Then yes, yes I will go with you.” The merman smiled with his entire face. He planted a quick peck on John's lips and then pushed off the boat and into the water. He jumped and arched over the waves, just as he had done the first time John saw him. He surfaced momentarily to motion John to follow him, and then swam ahead, breaching again to show John where he was. John took up the oars and took a deep breath. He was uncertain of what was to come, but he was certain of what he was doing now. With a last look up at the ship, he followed the merman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has followed the merman, leaving behind everything he knows. When he is led to a tiny cottage on an island, the boys settle in to a somewhat comfortable routine. But there are a few things in their relationship that need to be dealt with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to HollyShadow88 for the beta!

John awoke to warm sun on his face and the sound of gulls screeching and waves crashing. It took a few moments for him to realize he was no longer on a ship; his legs were still wobbly as he stood, having grown accustomed to the rocking of the sea. It was only his second morning in the cottage, but he already felt more at home here than he had in his cabin on the Albemarle. He padded across the packed dirt floor to the washstand and basin and splashed the cool water on his face, clearing away the last remnants of sleep. He stoked the embers in the hearth and placed the kettle over the flames once he brought them back to life. As he waited for the kettle to boil he returned to his journal to continue chronicling what had happened since he followed the beautiful merman.  
~*~*~*~ 

He had rowed for hours, the sun hot and high when he had caught sight of land. John was a bit surprised when the merman continued to lead him towards what appeared to be a small cove on a decent sized island. He could see a fort flying an English flag on its highest point. He certainly had had no idea what to expect when he left, but he had not anticipated being led toward land. The merman had stopped about 100 yards from shore to wait for John to catch up with him. When he arrived he gestured towards the small, deserted beach and slipped under the waves. John rowed until the water was about waist deep then he stowed the oars and hopped out, the cool water a welcome refreshment after sweating in the Caribbean sun for hours. As he pulled the boat towards shore he surveyed the island. The sand was pristine and white, a lush line of jungle flora creating a small crescent shaped beach. There were no signs that this beach was frequently used, no dock or even post to tie his boat to, and no obvious path through the jungle to access the beach from inland. The only sign that the beach had ever seen human use was a small wooden structure against the treeline on the northeast side.

With a great deal of effort John was able to pull the rowboat far enough onto the beach to be out of danger of washing away, at least for now. He leaned forward and put his hands on his knees, breathing heavily from exertion and dehydration. He closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath when the sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder caused him to shout and spin around to face the would-be assailant. His balled up fist stopped short of its mark when he was suddenly staring into the ice blue eyes of his merman.

The merman shielded his face from the impending blow, making a quiet sound of surprise. John instantly put his hands up, palms flat when he realized just who had touched him. “Dear god!” he exclaimed, both from surprise and relief. “I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you!” He reached out and gingerly laid his hand on the man's bicep. “ You just startled me is all. I...didn't expect you to be...on land.” John's words trailed as his eyes took in what was in front of him. The merman was standing about 6 feet tall, a good few inches on John's own height. His dark curls were still wet and dripping, hanging loosely on his forehead. His bare chest and arms were also still wet, but quickly drying in the afternoon sun. What drew John's attention most was the long, slender legs that had replaced the silvery-blue tail. They went on for miles, John thought, and were the same porcelain white as the rest of him. There was one notable difference however; on the back of each of the man's calves he had a dorsal fin, just like the ones on his forearms, only a bit larger, and his long slender toes still had a bit of webbing between them.

When John met the merman's face again he was smiling at John, and motioned towards his legs, as if trying to elicit a response. As John followed the gesture with his eyes, a blush flooded his cheeks when he noticed the man's complete nakedness for the first time. “I-uh, yeah,” John brought his eyes back up to meet the other man's before they lingered too long. “That's...incredible...how?” The merman's face screwed up as if he were concentrating extremely hard on something. He cleared his throat, and in a deep, raspy whisper spoke a single word.

“Land.”

John nodded at this, and considered what he meant. “You can change your form like this when you're on land?” The merman nodded enthusiastically in response. “You speak English then?” This earned him a head shake and a gravelly,

“Little.”

“Alright, I can work with a little.” A silence settled over the pair as they stood on the beach, neither certain about what to do next. So they simply smiled at each other. John began rocking back and forth on his heels – his body was exhausted but he didn't want to take his eyes off of the beautiful man in front of him. After what seemed like an eternity the merman cleared his throat again and broke the spell. He pointed to the cottage on the beach and then to himself. “Yours?” John asked, glancing over his shoulder to get a better look. The merman nodded in affirmation and began to walk towards it. John began to follow but stopped short, realizing something. “Wait!” The merman turned around and gave John an inquisitive look. “I just realised, I've never told you my name. I'm John. John Watson.” The merman swallowed hard and paused, then repeated in his baritone whisper,

“John.”

“Yeah, that's it. John.” John's heart pounded hard in his chest when the merman repeated it for a second time. He had heard his name in all manner of tones before, but never the way he heard it just now. The merman pointed to himself and then spoke again,

“Sherlock.”

“Sherlock.” John repeated. The merman gave a quick nod and resumed his path to the cottage. John smiled to himself and rushed to walk in stride next to the merman, to Sherlock.

*~*~*~*

Just as he had the day before, Sherlock left the cottage around midnight and returned just as John was finishing up writing. He had his satchel slung across his bare chest, and simple linen trousers bunched at the knees, leaving the fins on his calves uncovered.

“Good morning,” John smiled as Sherlock set the bag down on the wooden table. He replied with something that almost sounded like 'morning' as he unloaded two decent sized fish, some bananas, and another exotic fruit John didn't recognise. John stood and began searching the somewhat decently stocked pantry for something to skin the fish with. When he located a suitably sized knife he returned to the table only to give a yelp in surprise. Sherlock had sat himself down at the table and was biting into the raw fish, scales and all. He stopped and blinked at John, confusion crossing his face. John swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat. “Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you...it's just...most people cook their fish first.”

“Cook?” Sherlock asked, his mouth still full. John pointed to the fire in response. Sherlock gave him a look of disgust, which made John laugh.

“Yeah, well, scales aren't really my favorite.” Sherlock shrugged at this and continued eating his fish as John set about scaling and de-boning his. Once his meal was boiling over the hearth, John decided it was time to ask Sherlock something he had been thinking about. “So, I was wondering, can we get up to the fort from here?” Sherlock considered this for a moment and then nodded yes. “Can you show me later? I'd like to see if I can get word to my ship before they leave port again, have them send my things here. It'd be nice to have more than one pair of trousers and one shirt.” He couldn't be certain how much Sherlock had understood but he didn't say no, so John figured he got the general meaning anyway. 

John sat down to his meal just as Sherlock had finished his. As he ate, Sherlock picked up John's journal and began leafing through the pages. He had turned to a page with a sketch of the human skeleton. John had been keeping his knowledge of anatomy sharp by attempting to label what he could from memory. His eyes scanned the page with frantic interest, when suddenly he jumped to his feet and shouted,

“Ossis femoris!” John blinked in confusion, a slice of what he had determined to be papaya halfway to his lips.

“I'm sorry?”

“Ossis femoris! Digitum! Cranium!” Sherlock jabbed his finger at John's handwriting.

“You...you can read that?”

“Yes!” Sherlock nodded his head in excitement, eyes bright.

“Can you read this?” John turned to the page he had written that morning, paragraphs in English describing his time at the cottage. Sherlock squinted at the words, then shook his head no. “So, you speak Latin then? Or a derivative of it?”

“Et, Latine!” Sherlock's voice was still hoarse, John suspected as a consequence of not having spoken aloud for some time.

“That's brilliant!” John laughed, rising to his feet as well. Sherlock beamed with pride as he wrapped John in his arms. John sighed in contentment, enjoying the strength he could feel in Sherlock's arms. When they broke apart, John began to laugh again. Sherlock blinked in confusion and waited for John to explain. “I was never very good at Latin in school.” John admitted through his giggles.

“Loqueris?”

“Partim, some,” John replied. “Not well perhaps, but some.” Sherlock smiled at John's attempt and drew him into another hug.

~*~*~*~

Life at the cottage settled into a comfortable routine over the next month. Sherlock spent his nights in the ocean, giving John the simple explanation 'better'. Selfishly, John wished he would stay, the cottage was too quiet without him. He would return near dawn, with fish and fruits and vegetables. John had successfully gotten a message to the Albemarle and his trunk had arrived ten days later, along with John's wages. He had used the money to buy a few necessities for the two of them; candles, tea, and more ink.

Their days were filled with exploring the beach and jungle, or spending time in the cool ocean water when the day got too hot. John was forever in awe of Sherlock's speed and grace in the water. Their evenings were spent indoors, John teaching Sherlock English and Sherlock attempting to return the favour with Latin. Sherlock was a much quicker study than John, his vocabulary improving daily.

Their relationship was also growing daily. Kissing, John discovered, was one of Sherlock's favourite ways to spend their time. It hadn't gone much further than that, touches here and there, and John wanted to let Sherlock set the pace, unsure at what experience, if any, he had had before.

One quiet evening, John sat at the table mending a hole in one of his shirts. Sherlock was splayed out on the bed intently studying one of John's older journals. He suddenly sat up and tossed the journal down.

“Who am I, John?” he asked, his voice adopting a serious tone. John looked up from his mending to glance at him.

“What do you mean?”

“To you, John. Who am I, to you?” Oh. John was slightly taken back by this. Of course he had thought about it, but it wasn't that simple really. They certainly were more than friends, lovers sounded like something from a tragic opera, and they weren't betrothed or married. John thought a moment longer and then said,

“You’re my Sherlock.”

“I, I don't understand. What do you mean?” John sighed and came to sit on the bed next to Sherlock, placing his hand gently on his knee and began to explain the best he could.

“It means that we belong together. It means that I want to be with you, all of you, for as long as is humanly possible. I guess it means that I love you, Sherlock. I really, truly love you.” He paused and then added, in what he hoped was somewhat correct grammar, “Te amo, Sherlock.”

“John,” Sherlock whispered. He fell silent for a moment, his ice blue eyes searching John's glass blue ones. A blush rose to his cheeks as he took John's hand and kissed his knuckles lightly, his eyes never breaking contact with John's. “Nimium te amo, John. I love you too, my John.” John's breath caught in his throat at Sherlock's words and tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Sherlock kissed the back of his hand again, and then continued on up his arm, leaving a trail of kisses as he went. John laughed a deep chuckle and kissed the gorgeous curls on Sherlock's head. For the first time since they had arrived, Sherlock did not return to the water that night.

~*~*~*~

Another fortnight passed in the same routine as before, with the exception of Sherlock spending more nights on land with John than in the water. As time went by however, John noticed that Sherlock spent longer staring blankly out at the ocean. Sometimes he would do this for hours at a time, forgetting to eat or not hearing John when he spoke. It worried John, and although Sherlock would assure him that he was fine any time he asked, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was not fine.

One night John awoke in the hours before dawn to find Sherlock sat in a chair by the window. His knees were pulled up to his chin, and John could hear faint sniffles when he breathed in. John quickly tossed the blanket off and crossed the room to where Sherlock sat. He placed a cautious hand on his back and rubbed it in small circles. When Sherlock didn't flinch away from his touch, he rested his chin on Sherlock's head and whispered soft assurances. They stayed this way until the sun began to come up over the horizon. Finally Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes red and cheeks tear stained.

“Sweetheart, where were you?” Sherlock buried his head in John's chest, his body hitching when he breathed. John stroked his hair and let him calm, his heart clenching at the sight of Sherlock in such pain. When his breathing evened out John led him over to the bed and tucked him in. “Sleep, love. I'll take care of breakfast.” When he was confident that Sherlock was asleep, John left the cottage and walked the beach; he would gather some fruit from the jungle in a little while, but for now he had some thinking to do.

Breakfast was a mostly silent affair. John eyed Sherlock carefully as they ate, gauging his mood to see if he should propose his idea now or later. He decided to hold off until the afternoon, letting Sherlock take a long swim to hopefully clear his mind and help him feel a little better. When he had returned and situated himself on the bed with one of John's medical texts, John took a deep breath and began talking.

“Sherlock, love.” Sherlock looked up from the book to glance at John. “I know being here hasn't been easy on you.” Sherlock began to speak but John held up his hand, “Let me say this. You miss the ocean, I can tell. I understand, that's your home...it's where you belong, where your people are. I don't want you to be unhappy because of me.”

“I am not unhappy because of you John, never because of you.” Sherlock shook his head. John crossed the room and sat beside him, taking one of his slender hands in his.

“But you are unhappy.” Sherlock's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he reluctantly nodded. “Then that settles it, you are going back,” Sherlock began to protest but John interrupted, “and I want to go with you.”

“John?”

“You told me once that your people could perform spells and brew potions, yes?”

“Yes, but...”

“Then there must be one that would allow me to change forms, like you.” A mix of emotions passed across Sherlock's face at John's words. He shook his head and placed his free hand on top of John's thigh and squeezed it,

“I can't. I cannot do this to you, John.”

“You mean, there isn't a way?” John's face fell in disappointment. He had been so confident that this was the answer.

“No, you don't understand. There is a way, yes. An ancient potion only few could brew successfully. I could do it John, but I don't want to.” John's shoulders drooped in hurt, and he dropped his eyes away from Sherlock's, no longer able to look at him.

“I thought you loved me,” he whispered. Sherlock's hand shot out and grabbed John's chin. He tilted his head so that he met those ice blue eyes again.

“I do love you. That is why I cannot do it. I cannot ask you to become someone else for my sake.” Tears spilled from John's eyes and Sherlock thumbed them away while still holding on to his chin.

“Oh you ridiculous man,” John's voice shook as he spoke. “I wouldn't be someone else. Not where it mattered. Sure I may look a little different than I do now, but I'd still be your John in here.” He brought Sherlock's hand to his heart. “When I followed you I left everything, and I have not regretted that decision for one second. If it would make you happy and we could be together properly, then I know I will not regret this one either.” Sherlock did not speak for a moment, his own eyes now wet with tears. He swallowed hard and moved his hands to cradle John's face,

“Do you mean that? You would leave all this,” he looked around the cottage and down at the journals on the bed, “to live with me in the sea?”

“This very second if it were possible.”

Sherlock let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then he brought John's mouth to his and kissed him hard, their tears mixing together on each other’s cheeks and coating their lips with a sharp, salty taste. They broke apart to catch their breath, but pressed their foreheads together, as if it were impossible for them to not be touching.

“I'll have to return home to get the recipe for the potion. My brother holds it in his library. It shouldn't take more than a day.” John nodded and smiled.

“We'll come back to that brother comment later.” Sherlock huffed at this, but didn't push the issue. “How long will it take to make it?”

“I'm not sure. A week, perhaps?”

“Well then, why haven't you left yet?” Sherlock let out a deep, genuine laugh at that and then kissed John again.

“I'll leave as soon as I can, my John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the Latin is from good old Google Translate...so I have no idea if it is right or not.   
> I found John's ship's name on Wiki and it was an actual British merchant vessel. I didn't do much research on it beyond that, but I am pretty sure it never had a doctor that abandoned ship to be with a merman ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a short ficlet for Tumblr...but the boys demanded their story be longer. Right now I am planning on three chapters...but we'll see what they have to say about that :)


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